Greetings from Hollywood....

Just got back to Washington, DC from Hollywood. Florida. Hollywood, Florida.
"How was it," people been asking me.
My students (yes, I'm teaching again), my new writing-partner (brilliant, genius, I must add) etc.
"Well, I brought my laptop in hope that I would find a cafe and write with the view of the ocean...except there are no cafes in Hollywood, Florida...."

Let's see, that was my fourth or fifth time in Florida.
A few times in Saint Petersburg, once in Miami and now Hollywood, and I have to say, it makes me appreciate even the DC culture. Don't even know how people from NYC or Europe can stand it.
To be fair, it had some perks. The Ocean, for one. Except, in February, I can't swim in it. So, it's a big, wavy tease. But I did get my feet wet. Is that worth a two and a half hour flight?
(Whenever I say "two and a half hour flight," I automatically think of the Belgrade-London flight. But DC-Ft. Lauderdale and Belgrade-London? Two different planets in two and a half hours, I swear. Would take the European flight over the other one any time....)
What else?
Warm pools?
Well, you can, to be fair, read a book with a Strawberry Daiquiri by a warm, nice pool, I'll give you that. Which was the highlight of my trip. (Aren't you pitying me right now?)
A water taxi from Hollywood to Ft. Lauderdale where they have actually heard of a cafe, an Italian cafe (Yay!), is kind of fun, but it takes hours and hours to make a 15-minutes car ride, and the waiting time, and transfers...Too much time, too much effort.
And Ft. Lauderdale is kind of nice. Reminds me of Rodeo Drive in L.A. just slightly less expensive.

Food?
I'm sorry to say, I wasn't impressed by food. As a matter a fact, my first night there, I ordered a guacamole in a Mexican restaurant on the boardwalk, and after coming back from washing my hands in the bathroom, I prayed not to get food poisoning. I never before let guacamole go to waste. (it's my favorite thing to eat!) The one in Trader Joe's tastes better, that's all I'll say.
Fish tacos were good though, but with the side of a dirty bathroom I have seen just minutes before...

So, I know, I know, I'm complaining about four days of 80-degree weather and the ocean breeze.
But would it kill you to have a cafe on the boardwalk? A tiny Starbucks at least, if not something independent?
And if I see one more old, "pregnant" man with a leathery-tan skin and no shirt...

New Year, New Walls!

New Year, New Walls, right?

Remember Sandy? The storm?

Well, my bedroom ceiling leaked then, so after all the elaborate repairs (the roof, the deck above me, the drywall etc.), it was time to paint the whole bedroom.

A contractor asked me: "what's the paint you used before," and I said, without hesitation: "Caribbean Blue!"

I was absolutely sure of it, as sure as I am of the fact that I'm sitting in a cafe now writing this blog, staying away from home while my housekeeping is cleaning the mess painters left and while the walls are still drying, releasing that nauseating smell (toxic too.)

How could I possibly be wrong? I take great pride in my memory! I am one of those people you ask:" what did you wear on March 5, 2008?" and I say:" that yellow sweater I bought in Amsterdam!"

Of course, neither me, nor the contractors thought of checking if the paint matched, before actually...well...painting!

I trusted my memory without reservations, and the contractor either A) didn't care; B)trusted me.

So, yesterday, they began painting my sky blue bedroom into...Caribbean blue, i.e. a dark, turquoise color.
I have been to Caribbean many times, and I ain't seen anything that color. That dark, that green.

By the time the mistake was uncovered, lots of money and time had already been invested.

And there was really no time to go back to the store (I would have had to do it), buy new paint, or exchange the wrong one (is that even possible?) for what really was blue (not green.) And I was at my writers group meeting at the time, then meeting an old friend from Belgrade, on a very tight schedule.

I have a feeling that people around me are often color-blind. Benjamin Moore certainly is.

So now, if you walk into my bedroom you either A) panic because you think you're drowning B) begin waving your hands and kicking your legs. C)holding your breath.

Maybe I should hire an artist and paint some fish...

Everyone, raise your mug of chamomile tea!

Here's to an excellent writing day! (I'm raising my mug of chamomile tea!)
Hmmm, why chamomile at...2pm, you wonder?
Well, with a great writing day come... nerves. Hence the chamomile tea.
Let me elaborate. (It's actually kind of interesting for psychology students.)
So, I'm working on a story that has an abortion in it. And I'm basing it on interviews I conducted with older women in Serbia.
And when I write, I write like an actor. What do I mean by that? Well, I use my acting training to get into my character's skin.
So today, I was in the skin of a young woman getting an illegal abortion in 1940s or so, in rural Serbia.
Uplifting, right?
Hence the chamomile. I got anxious a little while writing. Just a little. The room, i.e. the cafe began spinning a little, and it became a bit warm (it's 74 degrees here) and...just got a little anxious.
But since I'm also kind of happy that my story got a real good shape today, and I'm ready to workshop it, I decided to cope with my "flight" instinct and sit down with a nice mug of chamomile and some honey.
I wonder if other fiction writers get upset by their characters going through hell?

Belgrade-DC: Resolutions, resolutions...

Belgrade-DC: Resolutions, resolutions...: So, are you going to the gym tomorrow? Or doing Yoga? Or beginning a new diet? I love how arbitrary and fairy-taley the whole "New Year's ...

Resolutions, resolutions...

So, are you going to the gym tomorrow? Or doing Yoga? Or beginning a new diet?

I love how arbitrary and fairy-taley the whole "New Year's resolutions" are, or rather the idea of, oh, I'm going to pig out today, but tomorrow, I'm going to be a good girl (or a boy.) Just because today is Dec. 31 and tomorrow January 1.
I bite into it just like everybody else. And I think it's a good thing.
Imagine if there were no "years," if everything was just a continues flow. We would all be "naughty" all the time, without even trying to be nice.

So, what's your 2013. resolution?

I'm turning vegan tomorrow! Again! But probably not forever. I'm a realist, and I know when my mother comes on Jan. 18th, she will mess up my veganism with her Eurocream (Eurokrem) and palachinke (crepes).
But, better 18 days than none, right? Right?
Also, I'm going to write every day. Either write or rewrite.
I have both my novel-in-stories to work on (I decided to rewrite three stories, and write a new one. Inspiration from my trip to Serbia, the recent one.) and my NaNoWriMo novel. That's a lot of work!
And I'll try to do Yoga every day.
What else?
I also want to finally find an agent, and market my writing much more, maybe enter some competitions, maybe find a residency....
And by the end of the year I might cut my hair off, dye it red and move to Italy.
Just kiddin...
Anyway, I had my horoscope done in Serbia for 2013, and apparently I'll be swimming in business proposals.
We'll see!

Whatever you decide to do, however you decide to change your life in 2013, (which I believe it's going to be an awesome year, since I was born on the 13th), be kind to animals and people! Especially living beings weaker than you and defenseless.

Namaste!

Shooing a hawk away or Madison Square Park on Christmas Eve

Greetings from New York City, another city that does Christmas as well as Munich, if not better!

As I was boarding a train from Union Station to Penn Station, my mouth began watering with all the things that I wanted to do in this city I used to call home, just a little over two years ago.

From Penn station, Madison Square Park is just a short walk away.

And it's my favorite NYC park.

Why?

I know, who doesn't love Central Park, right? But Central Park is a city of its own, it's a whole day project, it's a story of its own.

But Madison Square Park?

It had Shake Shack before DC did. Way before. It's across from my favorite building in the world--the Flatiron. 

It's five minutes away from the Union Square.

It's across from the Saint Sava Serbian Orthodox Church on W. 25th street.

It's just in the middle of it all, where ever you want to go, you can have lunch, or take a break, or feed the overweight squirrels.

Yesterday, there was also a beautiful Christmas tree there. And a hawk.

Yes, a real hawk, the first hawk I have ever seen up close.

So, what happened?

Passing through the Park, remembering how many times I have been there, summer and winters, observing sculptures or listening to the live music while having a picnic on the grass, watching U.S. Open on the big screen or waiting in line for the best milk shake and shroom-burger (vegetarian), I saw people staring at something on the lawn, snapping photos with their phones.

I approached, and there he was, or she was--a big bird, big wings, sharp beak, black and white, grey feathers.

So, I snapped a few photos as well, smiling, saying something along the lines--"Cool, I have never seen such a big bird so up close before...or in Madison Square Park..."

Come on, I grew up in a city, always lived in a the city; besides pigeons, not many birds around.

And then someone said: "it's standing on a squirrel..."

My animal-protecting instincts kicked in, and indeed, after seeing a poor, closed-eyes squirrel beneath the sharp claws, I proceeded to shoo away the hawk.

Yes, I said :"shoo, shoo" several times to the hawk, who stared at me, probably thinking "who the hell is this crazy lady..."

The squirrel appeared to be dead.

I felt so sad.

Never occurred to me that the hawk could move from the dead squirrel to me, the lady with a big, grey puffy jacket, and Benetton blue-grey-brown hat, waving her gloved hand in front of the bird's hawky nose.

New York City. Wild, in many ways. 

Just as I was saying how happy those Madison Square squirrels were, having no one as predators except for high cholesterol. 

Sigh...

Don't suck on honey on a German train...or do

I was sitting on a train from Munchen Flughafen to Central Station.

I just missed the first train by two seconds, and the one I was finally on came in 19 minutes.
I was already hungry since Lufthansa only had sandwiches with ham.
"Do you have a vegetarian sandwich?" I politely asked the German flight attendant.
"You can take the meat out," she said and smiled as if she just invented electricity.

Makes sense, right? Well, not to me. How can I protest meat if I throw it away?! Nothing upsets me more than throwing meat away. It's not air. An animal was killed for it.
So, I politely declined the sandwich.

But two hours later, I was starving. And all my food I brought from Serbia, translation--vegan cookies, Eurocream, or kremche as my niece calls it (or the devil food, as I call it since it's delicious and addictive and when I have it in my kitchen, I can't eat anything else,) chocolates of all kinds...all of that, neatly packed in my suitcase.

So, I was sitting across from a gentleman German who lifted my carry-on, and holding on to my check-in suitcase that weighed probably as much as I was, and I rummaged through my purse since the trip was another 45 minutes, plus another 10 to get to the hotel.

And I was starving!

All I found in my purse, eatable, was a little pocket of honey, you know, one of those things you get with your tea in a cafe. My Mom gave it to me since honey is medicinal and it can be used for sore throat, disinfection...
So I opened the little pouch and began sucking the honey out of it.
And I pretended it was a normal thing to do--eat honey on a train. In Germany. Totally nonchalant. As if I were reading a paper or a book, or checking my phone.
But with my peripheral vision, I saw that the German guy across from me was glancing, occasionally lifting his eyes from his paper.
I pretended not to see him. Looked through the window. Looked at my phone.

As I was finishing my snack, squeezing the bag so I get all of the honey, he got up and moved to another seat.

My first!

I guess sucking on honey is considered crazy in Germany! Who knew?!